


At Helm, At Anchor

by Laylah



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Experience Difference, First Time, M/M, Noa's Empathic Connection to the Grandcypher, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: He runs the cloth over the prop shaft again, a little slower, trying to split his attention between the ship and the primal who built her. Noa shivers, a little motion rippling through him like how the wind ruffles a sail. Rackam bites his lip and looks back at the engine. The air feels thick and charged as if they're flying into a storm.
Relationships: Noa/Rackam (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	At Helm, At Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rethira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/gifts).



> I loved your prompts for this ship so much! I hope you enjoy what I've done with them. This was a delight to work on.

It's no mere figure of speech to say that a piece of Noa remains in every ship he helps create. That goes double—at least—for a ship like the _Grandcypher_ , with which he's had so much history from the War straight up to the present, so when it docks at Golonzo, he finds his spirits lifting and his head turning toward the harbor almost unconsciously. It's always good to see the ship again, not to mention its helmsman; Noa can't remember the last time he was so fond of a mortal.

He wonders if Rackam will come to call on him, to ask his advice or just to visit. He wonders if he should pre-empt that and go to the harbor now, to see both the ship and the man. Would that be too forward? Would he be causing trouble, demanding attention when Rackam had other things to do? He should wait a while. Give the crew some time to get settled.

The _Grandcypher_ still tickles at the edges of his senses, though, even as he walks through the shipbuilders' yards to offer advice and assistance where he can. It's been through so much over the years, and that history is all part of him.

The first shiver through him is subtle enough that it's almost missable, but then there's another, and a third, and Noa finds that he's stumbled to a halt, one hand on a wall for balance. Someone is touching the _Grandcypher_ in a way he can only call intimate, and that someone is almost certainly Rackam—after he's spent decades on the ship, doing repair and maintenance as well as piloting, his touch itself is nearly as familiar as the ship he loves.

What he's doing now hardly counts as maintenance. It's attention to the engine, gentle and careful, clearing stray dirt and polishing each shaft and gear with a delicacy that takes Noa's breath away. It's slow, deliberate, and knowing, lingering just long enough on each component. Every stroke seems to touch _him_ , a tingling in his senses despite the distance from his corporeal body.

He wants somewhat less distance between that touch and his corporeal body.

Crossing town is harder than it should be. He keeps getting distracted by those sweet touches, the care and attention given to parts that aren't attached to him but are still _of_ him in a way that most mortals never understand. He has to stop more than once to let a shiver run through him in response to something feeling just right. It _has_ to be Rackam. Nobody else knows the _Grandcypher_ or Noa himself so well.

He has no precious talisman of Rackam's person with which to return the favor, but that just means he needs to hurry. When he reaches the belly of that ship, he _will_ make his appreciation known.

* * *

It feels silly to be nervous about docking in Golonzo. The place is practically a second childhood home for Rackam, even if he didn't actually spend that much of his youth there—those days with Noa were so important, and did so much to set his life on course in the first place. Then the first time he brought the _Grandcypher_ back here, under Gran's command, and discovered Noa still here, unchanged and so pretty and so fascinating.... Well, maybe it's no surprise that Rackam's hiding out below decks instead of strolling into town.

Hiding out below decks does nothing for his general "thinking too much about Noa" problem, of course. Everything down here might as well have Noa's name on it in big letters. There's so much about the ship that displays his personal touch; when Rackam tries to keep himself busy by giving the engine a thorough and unnecessary inspection and tune-up, he can't help thinking about Noa's hands being where his hands are now. Their hands overlapping, coaxing a gear into proper alignment. The warmth of Noa's body beside his as they work—damnit, he feels like a smitten teenager.

"What are you working on?" Noa's voice is gentle but Rackam startles all the same; his bare feet make no noise on the ship ladder and he's always moved gracefully.

"Oh, you know," Rackam says. "Nothing serious, just a little checkup, some polish here and there. I haven't thrown anything off, have I?" Noa would know if anyone would; Rackam's pretty sure he hasn't made a mess of things, but there's still a pang of anxiety just for a moment.

Noa smiles, gliding closer, and shakes his head. "You've always treated this ship well. Don't let me interrupt you."

It's a little distracting at first to know he's there, not working himself but just watching, but at the same time, Noa probably understands Rackam's devotion to the _Grandcypher_ better than anyone. Rackam slips back into his task, stroking lubricant into the crevices between gears, polishing the faces of the big ornate ones. It's like petting a hunting dog when you're sitting at home by the fire, right? Just being nice to a valuable partner to keep your relationship good.

Noa gasps sharply as Rackam runs a soft cloth up the exposed span of the fore prop shaft. Rackam looks up, and Noa—pretty, ethereal Noa, who always looks like he's made of marble and starlight—is flushing pink and chewing on his lip.

"Things okay?" Rackam asks. That look on Noa's face is going to haunt his dreams.

"Just fine," Noa says breathlessly. "Good. You can keep going."

"I can, huh?" Then it clicks what's going on here. "How's it feel?"

"It's... wholly unfamiliar," Noa says. "There's something different about the way you touch this ship. I've never felt anything quite like it."

"And you like it," Rackam says. It seems pretty clear, but he likes to be sure he's reading things right.

Noa nods. "It's... intimate."

They're definitely on the same page, then, and Rackam's trousers feel a good bit tighter than they did a minute ago. "Right." He runs the cloth over the prop shaft again, a little slower, trying to split his attention between the ship and the primal who built her. Noa shivers, a little motion rippling through him like how the wind ruffles a sail. Rackam bites his lip and looks back at the engine. The air feels thick and charged as if they're flying into a storm.

The gears in front of him don't need more attention. They didn't need attention even when he started, but he was thinking about Noa and needed something to keep himself busy and because of that Noa is _here_ , hell. His fingers trace the teeth of one gear, feeling how defined the edges still are. They've been oiled just enough to keep them moving smoothly. As Rackam's fingertips slip from one gear to its mate, Noa makes a soft, needy sound. Rackam can't help looking up.

Noa is staring at him with an expression of open longing and it's _stunning_. He takes a careful step closer, then another, and then his hand is settling over Rackam's, warm and soft. "I want to—to make you feel the way you make me," he says, soft and breathy but so focused. "That's not what I was made for. I don't have the inborn knowledge. But I want to learn."

"I don't think anyone has inborn knowledge for that," Rackam says, and distracts himself for a moment wondering if there _is_ a primal focused on nothing but sex— "But I'd be happy to show you what I know."

He turns, and Noa turns with him as if they're gears moving on the same drive train, arching up as he leans down and their lips meet. Noa smells like the shipyard, like brass and sawdust and lamp oil, the comforting scent of a wonderful place where magic happens. His mouth opens and Rackam deepens the kiss, threading fingers into his hair and discovering it's even softer than it looks. He's tiny, and he feels deceptively delicate in Rackam's arms.

It _is_ deceptive, though; for all that Noa looks and feels like a boy, he's a primal beast with power and knowledge stretching back to the War itself. He's the greatest shipbuilder ever to have graced the skies. That's the being kissing Rackam now, and that realization makes his cock throb.

Noa pulls back to look up at him, hands alighting on his belt buckle. "Like this?"

"Sure," Rackam says. It's still unbelievable that this is happening. "Here, these can't be comfortable to get close to." He usually keeps his armor on even in port, because you never know when things are going to get crazy in a hurry, but now he undoes the clasps and lets it clatter to the floor as Noa unbuckles his gun belt and pulls it off.

This time Noa reaches up to pull him down, fingers tangling in his hair, claiming another kiss with an urgency that makes Rackam's head spin. He kisses back hard, nipping at Noa's tongue, and Noa moans. It's so much easier to feel his body, the heat, the trembling energy, without armor in the way. Noa arches up, squirming in Rackam's arm as if he's trying to get closer, trying to get more friction.

Rackam breaks the kiss with a gasp as that friction gets a little too good. "Thought you didn't know what you were doing."

Noa smiles, bright-eyed and flushed. "I'm not _completely_ unaware. I remain connected to my ships, to one degree or another, and skyfarers generally do know how to enjoy life." He pauses for just long enough to let that sink in before he continues the assault: "I've seen a few things but that doesn't mean I've practiced, and it doesn't mean I know what _you_ want."

"I want you to fuck me," Rackam says before he can convince himself to go slower or ask for less or something.

"Show me," Noa says. "Show me how."

"Right here?" Rackam asks, but he's already unlacing his tunic.

For an instant Noa appears to not understand the question. Then he says, "Would you rather go elsewhere? Almost nobody is still on the ship and I'd feel them coming before they could interrupt us."

"Here, then," Rackam says immediately. There's no place more appropriate, is there? Nowhere that makes more sense for them than in the _Grandcypher_ 's heart. He grabs his discarded tool belt, searching through the pockets until he finds a suitable oil. When he starts stripping Noa follows suit, baring smooth pale limbs and a body that looks flawlessly human, his cock slender and hard and flushed pink at the head and Rackam's knees hit the floor before he's thought twice. "Let me taste you?"

"Yes," Noa says. "Whatever you'd like to—oh," he says, grasping at Rackam's shoulders as Rackam's mouth envelops his cock. His skin tastes good, almost human but a little sharper, and his cock fits in Rackam's mouth so perfectly, enough to weigh down his tongue and just threaten the back of his throat. Noa makes amazing sounds, soft and incoherent little moans and gasps as he tangles his fingers in Rackam's hair for leverage. Rackam can't help thinking it again: this is a _primal beast_ filling his mouth and whimpering at how he feels. His cock aches, that's so hot.

When he tastes the first bitter hint of precome, Rackam pulls back. Who knows how long it takes for a primal beast to get ready to go again? "I'm going to be real sorry if I miss out on that fuck because I got greedy," he says with a little grin when Noa looks dismayed. "You still up for that?"

"Please," Noa says. He sounds breathless. His cheeks are bright pink.

Rackam nods. He presses the vial of oil he found earlier into Noa's hand. "I won't need to explain why you need a good lubricant when parts are a tight fit."

Noa laughs, ducking his head like he's embarrassed, and Rackam turns around, spreading his legs and leaning forward on his elbows. It's not the most comfortable position but with Noa's height they'd have trouble if he just bent over a console or something.

"Okay," Noa says, settling behind him, a hand on Rackam's flank. "Now?"

"Now," Rackam agrees. He can afford to be a little impatient. "Slick yourself up, hold it steady, and push."

He hears the cork come out of the bottle and then Noa's intake of breath at the feel of the oil, and then Noa's cock presses carefully against his hole. Rackam bites his lip, trying not to beg, arching his back to get just a little closer. That moment hangs for just a little too long, like the instant when the sails have swung round but the wind hasn't caught them—and then Noa pushes, an easy stretch as he slides into Rackam's ass, hot and well-oiled and this is _really happening_.

"And this," Noa says shakily, "this is what _you_ want?"

"Mmm. You mean because it's good from that end?" Rackam braces himself and pushes back, making Noa's cock slide deeper. "I promise it feels great. You're right where I want you." He rocks his hips again and it slides so easily he sighs with pleasure.

Noa's delicate hands curl around his hips, gripping tight enough to remind Rackam that his power is beyond human. "Like this?" He pulls back and thrusts under his own power, making Rackam groan. It feels so good, the way he moves, being the focus for all that drive.

"Just like that," Rackam gets out. "More like that."

Noa's thumb strokes his hip. "Good." He shifts his weight, the pressure changing slightly against the backs of Rackam's thighs, and then starts to thrust for real. At the first the friction is just pleasant, teasing and warming, just brushing the sweet spot that makes it feel so good to take cock. But as he keeps going, as his breath comes faster and his grip gets tighter, his rhythm never falters. It's relentless, the steady motion of a piston fueled by a hot-burning stove, and it has Rackam starting to tremble as the tension builds. He reaches down to take hold of his own cock, stroking in time with Noa's implacable rhythm. He's making noise, exhaling little grunts and moans into the floor of the engine room, and between them he can hear Noa murmuring things like _you're so good_ and _I'm so glad you're here_ , things that feel almost too intimate to acknowledge.

Even without acknowledging it, that stuff makes everything feel more intense. Rackam pushes back, clenching down to try to get just a little more, a little harder, when he's so close—and he comes with a sharp cry, shaking, bearing down around Noa's cock.

" _Oh_ ," Noa gasps, "nnh, Rackam, _please_ ," and he sounds almost lost, like this is more than he was expecting and he doesn't know how to handle it.

"Go on, you're good," Rackam says, "whatever feels good right now, take it, I want you to."

Noa makes a sound like _mmn_ and his hands tighten even more, leaving bruises on Rackam's hips to go with the ones he'll definitely have on his knees. His pace becomes frantic, almost punishing, like he really has never known pleasure like this—he was probably never _meant_ to know pleasure like this—and Rackam shudders again just before Noa cries out and goes tense and still inside him.

Rackam reaches back to rest a reassuring hand on Noa's thigh. "Feeling good?"

"I see now why so many skyfarers are enthusiastic about finding chances to do that," Noa says. He sounds a little giddy. Good. "What happens now?"

There are a few possibilities. "Here, let me up," Rackam says. They disengage and he sits up, turning around to face Noa, carefully clear of the evidence splattered on the floorboards. "Come here." He pulls Noa into his arms, slender form tucked up against his chest. "I like to have a little time to relax together before we go clean up and make ourselves presentable."

"Hmm." Noa leans his head against Rackam's shoulder. "I like that idea." 

He feels so comfortable there, and like someone Rackam wants to protect, irrational as that is. It's hard to sort through all the things Rackam feels in this moment, really. But that's fine. It's not something he has to do right now. For now, his ship is safely in harbor, his shipwright is comfortably in his arms, and from here to the horizon, all is well.


End file.
